


Deathlike Silence

by thrasherslasher



Category: Lords of Chaos (2018), Mayhem (Band)
Genre: Character Death Fix, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere, necrophilia themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24520810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrasherslasher/pseuds/thrasherslasher
Summary: Dead is a bit of a stalker-ish guy when he has a crush
Relationships: Dead | Per Yngve Ohlin/Varg Vikernes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Deathlike Silence

**_Cut with dull scissors and tied with a ribbon._ **

**_Curated under the glass of my pendant._ **

Pelle sat on the carpeted floor, legs crossed like a child, quietly.

It wasn't hard for him to be quiet here.

The room smelled very nice, nicer than the rotting death smell he was used to in his own room.

It was night and it was dark, but not too dark for him to see.

He watched the slowly breathing silhouette.

So calmly did it lay just inches above and away from his face.

**_You always said you hated the things you can't control,_ **

**_Like all the wild hair that grows from your follicles._ **

He raised a shaky hand, but put it back down.

Self control, he thought to himself.

Instead, he carefully picked up the scissors that rested just beside him.

They were silver, and stained with blood, but they still shined in the light of the candles he lit.

He raised his other hand now, cold and spindly, and he held a tuft of hair between two fingers.

Pelle tried to resist the urge to lean in and smell the locks that fell so gracefully, he thought, across the pillow.

He couldn't resist though and he hunched over for just a second to inhale the scent.

**_I've been collecting pieces of your hair,_ **

**_To tuck away in the locket that I wear._ **

Dead very softly pulled up the lock of hair he held, skillfully cutting off too little to notice, but enough for him to keep.

He tied it together carefully with a small piece of dark red ribbon, a stark contrast against the brown hair it held together.

His hands grazed over his collar until they found the large baphomet pendant he wore.

A locket that no one knew was a locket.

He took it off and opened it, placing the piece of hair in the middle of the locket.

**_Pretty strands that grew in your youth._ **

**_Pieces that I'll always hold on to._ **

After closing it, he put it back on and rose.

He stood so tall compared to when he was sitting.

He put out the candles in the room, picked up his scissors, and quietly padded out of the room and back to his own, upstairs.

His room also had the ambient glow of candles.

Most coming from scattered altars.

But one specific spot with candles, so oddly close to his bed, had a unique purpose.

He proceeded to walk in and kneel down there.

Pelle had many different things sitting on that small table.

Most prominent being a wooden box with a latch.

He opened it and inside were:

A small bottle capped with a cork, and inside was dark red blood, that always seemed to glisten in the flickering light of the candles.

**_Sweeter than a vial of your blood,_ **

**_Will never dry or disintegrate._ **

A polaroid photo that was taken, obviously, while the person in it was asleep or unconscious.

The limp hand that rested near the thigh that lay on the bed, the limp state of their body overall.

The position was crude, Dead's hand was in view, holding one of their thighs upright.

**_Pieces you tied back when we made love,_ **

**_Now tucked away where they loyally wait._ **

And a letter, folded into a small square.

A letter that was, no doubt, addressed to Pelle from the person in the photo.

What was visible of it were the words,

_ "Your work. _

_ Vocals. _

_ Collaborate. _

_ Burzum." _

**_When you're old, grey, and deceased,_ **

**_I'll still have parts of your young body._ **

Dead placed the pendant into the box on top of the letter.

His eyes lingered on the contents surrounding it.

Moving from one object to the next.

Thinking about what each one meant to him.

The feeling in his chest - absolutely indescribable.

The weight on his soul - completely lifted.

He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and closed the box.

He didn't bother getting up, he just crawled onto his bed.

**_The one you lived in when you loved me,_ **

**_The rest of you, now decomposing._ **

As he laid down, Pelle thought of his own death once again.

A topic his mind drifted to often, though he had no idea if he was imagining it or fantasizing, like a wish.

A brief second passed and suddenly he pondered the death of the one in the photo. Varg.

He smiled.

How pretty, he thought, that he would look in a coffin. As a corpse. 

And he didn't care that these thoughts weren't normal.

They were wholesome, mostly.

**_One day you'll be dead and embalmed,_ **

**_But bits of you will be existing on._ **

After a while of thinking, and briefly having fun with himself and the thought of a dead Vikernes, sleep found Pelle.

In the morning, he would face him, like he hadn't snuck into his room every night.

Or like he hadn't kept the blood they put into a vial.

Or hadn't loved him so deeply he could hardly function.

Like every day.

**_Pretty strands that grew in your youth._ **

**_Pieces that I'll always hold on to._ **

**Author's Note:**

> the lyrics that are in bold are from Hair Lockets by Nicole Dollanganger


End file.
